


but tonight we dance

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Parallel Universes, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire meets Enjolras on New Year's Eve.</p><p>When he tries to find him again a few weeks later, it slowly dawns on him that it won't be as easy as he'd hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but tonight we dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my first Les Mis fic, which was first published a little over two years ago. The plot is pretty much the same (except for a few minor changes here and there), but I only kept around 20 percent of the original wording, everything else is rewritten.

**2004 – New Year’s Eve**

Grantaire staggered down the street, pretending that he wasn’t swaying and was actually graceful as fuck. Like a gazelle. Or something like that. His brain was a little foggy, you see. He was dimly aware that it must be midnight soon – there were people gathering outside, most of them as drunk as he was, celebrating the year coming to an end, talking about resolutions they’d never be able to keep. Grantaire did admire them all for their enthusiasm, at least a little.

The new year would come too soon anyway. Together with a slap in the face in the form of a terrible hangover. And that would quite likely be the end of the enthusiasm.

Grantaire didn’t care much about New Year’s resolutions. It was a terrible tradition to ask people what they wanted to change about their lives once the year was coming to an end. As if the beginning of a new year suddenly changed people. Really, people’s lives were just as shitty on January 1st as they’d been on December 31st and their habits were still the same and so was their personality and, well, Grantaire just really wasn’t a big fan of New Year’s Eve.

A car drove past, all windows rolled down, the girls inside wearing party hats, all of them laughing. Grantaire smiled faintly at that, a little sad that he wasn’t this excited. Honestly, he was basically too drunk to be excited about _anything_. He kinda wanted to take a nap. Maybe for like a month.

Grantaire walked onwards through the streets, though, not exactly sure where he was going. He’d told his friends that he’d be back soon, that he just needed some fresh air, but he didn’t want to go back to the party just yet. He’d just keep walking for a little while longer.

Grantaire passed kissing couples, only barely refraining from rolling his eyes. Right, maybe he was a little bitter. Whatever, he was drunk, no one was paying him any mind. He was allowed to be bitter.

After walking for another few minutes, he eventually ended up at the riverbank, where he proceeded to slouch down on a bench. At least it wasn’t snowing – not yet – so the bench was just freezing cold and not wet. Grantaire checked his watch with a sigh.

_34 minutes to midnight._

He should get moving so he’d be back at Eponine’s in time for midnight, but his butt was sort of frozen to that bench. Or maybe he was just too lazy to stand up. Grantaire passed the time by staring up at the sky, down the river, at the people walking by, not sure if he should curse light pollution of if he thought that the city lights reflected in the river were actually pretty.

Probably the latter. Really, it was something that he might have liked to paint if he hadn’t given up on that months ago. Mainly because he couldn’t afford the supplies, but also because he hadn’t liked a single painting of his in ages. His still doodled from time to time, when he could somehow bring himself to concentrate, but it wasn’t anything special. He’d been an idiot to think that he’d ever be able to make a living with his art.

Grantaire closed his eyes, just for a second. He barely even felt the cold.

“You know, this is really not the best place to fall asleep,” a firm voice said much too close to his ear.

Grantaire’s eyes flew open. There was a guy kneeling next to the bench, face to face with Grantaire, and he was _hot_. If Grantaire had been sober, he might have been able to come up with something more fitting, because hot didn’t quite cut it. It did him no justice at all. He was truly godlike. And if Grantaire had been sober, he might have not exaggerated quite that much.

“I wasn’t going to sleep here,” Grantaire muttered defensively.

“Just resting your eyes?” the guy asked, eyebrows raised. He sat down next to Grantaire. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Grantaire only shrugged. There were plenty of other benches, but the universe had apparently decided to send a hot guy his way and Grantaire sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. Maybe he should have said something to him, but he was too busy staring at him. He had really nice hair, shiny, sort of. And, yeah okay, Grantaire could probably blame the fact that he really wanted to touch it on being drunk.

The stranger smiled at him and pulled his red coat a little tighter around himself. “Any plans for the new year?” he asked conversationally. Maybe he didn’t have anywhere else to be.

Unlike Grantaire, whose friends had probably started to get a little worried about him. Or maybe they thought that he’d just gone home. Which actually wouldn’t have been too far-fetched. Grantaire wouldn’t mind being in his crappy bed in his crappy apartment right about now. He glanced at his watch one more time.

_12 minutes to midnight._

“I assume that’s a no,” the stranger mused.

“Yeah, I don’t make plans or anything,” Grantaire said. He really wasn’t in the mood for yet another ridiculously cheerful next-year-everything-will-be-different-and-better talk. “New Year’s resolutions are no good.”

The guy frowned. And it didn’t make him any less hot, which was truly astounding. “Why?” he asked. “Isn’t there anything in your life that you want to change?”

“Well,” Grantaire said, not exactly sure if he would even be able to form a coherent sentence, “I just don’t think that making plans like that makes a lot of sense. Nothing changes anyway. If someone’s too lazy to clean out their wardrobe or doesn’t feel like going to the fitness studio three times a week, they’ll probably always feel that way. A new year starting doesn’t change people that much, you know?” He laughed. “There’s really no point in trying.”

The stranger was staring at him with an odd look on his face. Grantaire couldn’t quite tell what he might be thinking about him.

Grantaire shook his head, more at himself than at the guy. “Sorry man, I’m not happy or optimistic or anything. In two days I’ll go back to my underpaid job and I’ll keep being a disappointment to everyone I’ve ever met. That’s just how things go for me.”

He stood up then, because he didn’t need to ruin someone else’s New Years Eve as well. He cast one last look at the stranger, whose face had grown hard. He looked like he was carved out of marble, fierce and beautiful. Grantaire’s drunk brain really wanted him to be a poet sometimes. Shaking his head again, Grantaire started walking back to where he assumed was Eponine’s apartment, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. He was starting to feel the cold now.

“You could still try,” the stranger called after him. “You can change things and stand up for yourself.”

Grantaire turned around, angry all of a sudden. “Yeah, sure, it sounds so easy when you say it, why haven’t I thought of that yet? Oh wait, I did try that actually. I’ve just failed too many times to still care. You know, your life might be easy, so it’s easy for you to preach shit like that, but reality is a long way away from your idealistic fight-for-yourself bullshit. Nothing ever changes. I’m fucking tired.” He huffed, looking around to see if anyone had noticed that he was yelling a Greek-god-like guy in the middle of the street. A group of people quickly walked past them, but they all seemed rather unimpressed. There were probably worse fights happening all over the place.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” It almost sounded genuine. “I just can’t believe that someone would give up on themselves completely. There has to be something worth fighting for.”

Grantaire shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t think at all. A tentative hand clasped Grantaire’s and pulled him back down on the bench. Grantaire didn’t pull away, just let it happen.

People in the distance were starting to count down to midnight and fireworks were starting to go off around them. There was delighted laughter, but the two of them stayed silent, their hands still firmly locked. Minutes ticked by and it seemed that neither of them felt like letting go just yet. Grantaire, even though his brain was still somewhat hazy, felt strangely content.

When the fireworks had died down and people were starting to walk past them, probably homeward bound, or maybe back to a party, Grantaire remembered that there were people waiting for him, too. He let out a deep sigh and let go. “There’s somewhere I need to get back to.”

“Right, of course,” the stranger said, his voice hoarse. “Well, if you ever...” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “My friends and I meet at the Musain once a week, on Wednesdays actually, maybe you’d like to join us sometime?”

Grantaire nodded as they both stood up. “Sure, yeah, I’ll come by,” he said and smiled a lopsided smile.

When he turned to leave, the stranger took hold of his hand once more. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“I’m Grantaire.” Another smile. “What’s yours?”

“Enjolras. Take care of yourself, okay, Grantaire?”

“Fine, I’ll do my very best,” Grantaire said, “ _Enjolras_. I guess I’ll see you around.”

_30 minutes after midnight._

Grantaire watched golden curls disappear into the night. He felt weirdly sober all of a sudden.

 

**2005 – January**

The new year started out busy for Grantaire. He agreed to do a couple of extra shifts at work – honestly, he needed the money – and Eponine often asked him to keep an eye on her little brother Gavroche. Mainly because Grantaire was a lot cheaper than a babysitter and he didn’t really mind doing it anyway. He kinda liked the little fellow when he wasn’t being a huge pain in the ass.

He occasionally thought about Enjolras’ invitation. Yes, he did remember it. He hadn’t been _that_ drunk, okay?

Grantaire had gone looking for the Musain, but that had proven to be quite the challenge, since he didn’t know what exactly he was even looking for. The Musain might be a pub or a restaurant or a café – Grantaire didn’t have the slightest clue, even though he usually prided himself in knowing all the best places in the city. The internet wasn’t much help either, so he started asking around. Some nights when he worked at the bar he’d ask random people if they’d heard of the Musain, but all he got were shrugs and blank faces.

After a couple of weeks Grantaire was starting to get desperate so he simply walked around the city whenever he had time, hoping that he’d come across it by chance, but he found nothing at all.

On most days he then ended up on his sofa with a bottle of wine, wondering if he might have dreamed up meeting Enjolras in a drunken haze. And most of the time he’d fall asleep reminding himself that, no, Enjolras was real and he was going to find him. Except that he never did.

 

**2005 – April**

Grantaire kept looking.

Sometimes he thought he’d caught a glimpse of familiar blond curls on the metro, in line at the coffee shop, on the other side of the street, but it was never him.

Grantaire looked through phonebooks to find Enjolras, called random people, but none of them were him. He was frustrated and angry at himself, because he could have just asked for Enjolras’ phone number or at least for the Musain’s address.

He bought art supplies and tried to remember him, to draw him, so he wouldn’t forget. He couldn’t quite do Enjolras justice, but it was somehow relieving that his mind could still put him on canvas.

Grantaire just really didn’t want to forget him, for whatever reason.

Now that he had the supplies he painted other things too, whatever came to mind, anything to keep him occupied. As strange as it was, sometimes it actually worked.  And sometimes it didn’t. Often, much too often, Grantaire lay awake and sleep wouldn’t come for hours on end, Enjolras’ words ever present on his mind. Was there really nothing that he wanted to change?

It just wouldn’t let him go. Because something had changed already, hadn’t it? The bad habits had stayed, the wine had stayed, the unhealthy food, the smoking, the struggle to get out of bed to go to work. Nothing of that had changed.

But he’d gone back to something that he’d thought he’d given up for good. That was change, however small.

 

**2005 – July**

Grantaire had stopped looking for the Musain. He’d stopped looking for Enjolras. There was really no point. Red jackets didn’t make him look up anymore; blond curls didn’t make his heard skip a beat.

He’d done what he was best at. He’d given up. If he thought about it, giving up might actually be the only thing that he truly excelled at.

Grantaire still lay awake, still too often, so he tried to keep himself occupied, to get himself to fall asleep, with wine or bad TV shows or more wine. He knew it wasn’t ideal, but he needed a few precious hours of sleep. And there was no one around to judge him. Maybe he wasn’t doing well, maybe he was absolutely miserable, maybe he was hung up on something that shouldn’t even bother him that much, but he really couldn’t help it.

 

**2005 – August**

“Grantaire, I’m worried about you.”

It wasn’t the first time that Grantaire had heard those words. He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, you can stop being worried about me right now.”

Eponine punched him in the upper arm. Hard. “Look, you’re drunk five times a week, that’s not healthy, you’re a chain smoker, that’s not healthy either. I’m the last person to tell you how to live your life, but it kinda seems to me like you’re trying to prematurely end it.”

“Wow, what’s with the fancy words?”

“You’re a dick,” Eponine said lowly, “why do I give a shit about you again?” She sighed. “I know that you met this guy on New Year’s Eve and–”

“It doesn’t matter, I can’t find him, and whatever I’m doing has nothing to do with him.”

“You’re still looking for that place, though.”

“I just ask people about it sometimes, I’m not actively looking. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, but it does matter,” Eponine said. “Or at least it did. Now you’re just... I don’t know.  It’s like you just don’t give a shit.”

Grantaire grinned. “Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah, turn this into a joke, whatever.”

“Seriously, I’m fine,” Grantaire said again. He could tell that she didn’t believe a word he was saying. And he couldn’t blame her, really. He knew that he looked like he hadn’t slept in days and was as pale as a ghost, even though it was summer. And what a summer it was. The sun had already started to set, but the heat was still unbearable. Grantaire sighed. “Listen, I’m gonna head home, but if it makes you feel better, I won’t smoke or drink or do anything you’re frowning upon all of a sudden. Until, like, tomorrow.”

Eponine narrowed her eyes. “This really isn’t about making me feel better and you know it. But yeah, it would, actually.”

“Alright, then.” Grantaire smiled at her as enthusiastically as he could manage, but was at the same time already starting to regret making that promise. He’d spend the rest of the night in his tiny apartment and he’d quite possibly go crazy.

Grantaire hugged Eponine goodbye and then started walking home, completely lost in thought, trying to find some way of getting around keeping his promise and simultaneously hating himself for even thinking about it at all.

Back home he sat down on the sofa with a book, soon gave up on reading, started pacing around his tiny living room, tried to paint, but his fingers refused to cooperate and keep the brush still. Eventually he decided to just give sleeping a try, cursing Eponine for knowing him too well, and above all himself for being such an enormous fuck-up.

He must have fallen asleep at some point but woke up again in the middle of the night, his mind wandering back to New Year’s Eve, to Enjolras, to that bench by the river. Grantaire sat up straight. The bench. He’d never even thought of going back there.

Grantaire swiftly hopped out of bed – well, you could hardly call it a bed since it was just a mattress on the floor – and quickly pulled on random clothes that were strewn about the floor, not really caring how long they’d been lying around there. It also didn’t matter that it was half past four in the morning.

He was down the stairs and out in the street in no time, first walking but soon running towards the Seine. He passed the apartment block that Eponine lived in and kept going, down the same street just like on New Year’s Eve.

Soon enough he had to take a break from running. He wasn’t in shape and maybe he should just go back to walking, because it wasn’t like he needed to get back to that bench by a certain time. Grantaire didn’t even know what he was expecting. Enjolras wouldn’t be there, of course he wouldn’t.

Still, Grantaire kept moving, his shirt drenched and his shaggy curls sticking to his face. The bench was empty when he got there, just as he’d thought.

He sighed softly and went to sit by the river, looking down at the reflections of the streetlights in the dark water, just like he had when he’d first been here. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what time it was and he didn’t care much. The sun was  just now beginning to rise and Grantaire was starting to think that he might as well come back here on New Year’s Eve, because who knew, he might be incredibly lucky.

Grantaire looked over his shoulder, not sure why he’d suddenly felt like someone was watching him. There was no one there.

 

**2005 – Christmas Eve**

Grantaire spent Christmas at Eponine’s. She was celebrating with her brother and Grantaire had been invited to join them ever since they’d first met.

Of course he’d also received an invitation to his parents’ annual Christmas party. They tried every year, tried to get him to come back home, but Grantaire still remembered too vividly how disappointed they’d been the last time they’d seen each other. Grantaire had told them that he wasn’t going to become a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or, what they would have liked the most, a politician.

Nothing had changed. Grantaire was still the same disappointment of a son and he was inclined to just ignore them for the rest of his life much like they’d ignored him for most of theirs.

Every year, ever since he’d left home a few years ago, he took the invitation, pinned it to his fridge, started at it loathingly for a couple of days and then found a more or less creative way to destroy it without ever opening it.

This year he’d set it on fire and it had been incredibly satisfying.

Celebrating with Eponine, in any case, had always been his first choice. Eponine’s apartment was nearly as tiny as Grantaire’s. Her furniture was old – every time someone sat down on the couch a cloud of dust rose up. But apparently it was much better than where she’d come from. Grantaire didn’t know the whole story and he didn’t want to pry. He didn’t like talking about his family either, so he made sure to steer around that topic.

They’d met at work a while ago and they’d started to hang out every now and then. And Eponine had found a rather convenient babysitter in him. Apparently Grantaire was the only one that Gavroche had never tried to steal from.

Now they were all sitting around Eponine’s sparsely decorated Christmas tree. They never gave each other presents because both of them were constantly broke, so it didn’t make much sense, but Grantaire had insisted on at least cooking dinner for them. It was starting to become a bit of a tradition.

Grantaire didn’t get to cook meals like that a lot anyway – unless you’d call heating up disgusting instant meals in the microwave cooking – and he was happy about the change. He really wasn’t a bad cook, but this sort of thing took time and effort.  

After eating a whole plate of Christmas cookies for dessert Gavroche soon fell asleep on the couch. Grantaire had snuck him a little present, just so that he’d get more than the one from Eponine.

“You look awfully happy these days,” Eponine mused.

“I’m possessed by the Christmas spirit,” Grantaire said dryly.

Eponine grinned knowingly. “But that’s not all, is it?” She watched him closely, then she sighed. “It’s about that guy. You think he’s going to show up again, but have you considered that he might not?”

“Of course I’ve considered that,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “I’m just hoping that he will show up.”

“You’re hoping,” Eponine echoed, nodding slowly. “Well, you know where to find me if he doesn’t.”

 

**2005 – Christmas Day**

Of course Grantaire knew that taking two nightshifts over Christmas would be nothing but a hassle, but he worked at a bar after all and business was booming. The tips were astronomical and he needed to make up for not working on New Year’s Eve somehow.

Lonely people trying to drink away their problems came and went and for once Grantaire actually wasn’t one of them. A man ordered his fifth tequila and told Grantaire that his wife had thrown her favorite vase at him. A girl ordered a Long Island Iced Tea and told him that she’d broken up with her boyfriend because she’d caught him snogging her cousin at her family’s Christmas party. He heard a lot of stories like that that night. People seemed to like talking to the barkeeper, maybe because they knew that they’d quite possibly never see him again.

When it was time to close up, the Corinthe was empty, save for the sad puppy at the bar. Grantaire had had to card him earlier because he looked like he was twelve. Anyway, he hadn’t been drinking that much, and he hadn’t said much either.

Grantaire walked over to him and poured the both of them a drink. “Listen buddy, we’re closing. Are you gonna be okay or do I need to call you a cab?”

The guy looked at him with his sad puppy eyes. “No, I’ll be okay. It’s just...” He trailed off and shrugged.

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow and pushed one of the glasses closer to the kid. “On the house, man. It’s just what?”

He downed his drink in one go just like Grantaire and shuddered. “I met this girl and she’s an absolute angel, honestly. Well, I say met. Actually I’ve never talked to her, but she’s wonderful. But yeah, I don’t really know her and she doesn’t even know I exist and I have no idea what to do.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Her name is Cosette, isn’t that the most beautiful name you’ve ever heard?” he added with a dreamy sigh.

“Yeah, that’s... lovely.” Grantaire walked around the bar and gently pushed the guy off his barstool. He was swaying a lot for the tiny amount of alcohol he’d actually drunk. Grantaire made sure to keep him steady and guided him towards the door. “Listen, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to find her and ask her out, it’s as easy as that.”

“Easy as that,” the guy said, nodding at Grantaire enthusiastically, like he’d just handed him the holy grail of dating advice. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Grantaire muttered and stuffed the puppy into a cab before he walked back inside to help clean up.

 

**2005 – New Year’s Eve**

The streets of Paris were full of people when Grantaire made his way down to the river, already giddy with excitement. He felt much colder than last year, pulling his beanie over his ears against the biting cold as he started to wonder why he’d never bothered to buy himself a warm parka. The green jacket he was wearing was hardly made for temperatures below zero. Well, at least he’d put on several layers of clothing.

Only a couple of minutes after he’d sat down on the exact same bench that he’d sat on with Enjolras a year ago, little snowflakes started to fall, settling on the tip of Grantaire’s nose and making him seriously consider his life choices. Maybe he should have brought a blanket. Or snacks, for that matter.

Grantaire sighed, his breath clearly visibly in the cold winter air. This was going to be great fun.

_3 hours and 14 minutes to midnight._

Maybe he should just go hang out in a bar while he waited. Maybe Enjolras wouldn’t come back until midnight. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. Seriously, waiting here was pretty much the worst idea he’d ever had.

Just when he’d been starting to think that his buttocks might freeze to the bench and he’d never be able to get up again, Grantaire caught a glimpse of a person with a red coat in the distance, and they were definitely striding towards him.

He waited until he was absolutely sure that it was in fact Enjolras, then he jumped up to meet him halfway. When they were finally face to face, Grantaire only barely refrained from hugging him. “You’re really here,” Grantaire said lowly.

“It’s you,” Enjolras only said, frowning down at him. “Hey, I thought you wanted to come see me at the Musain sometime. But you never showed up. And now you’re glad to see me all of a sudden?”

Grantaire couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He’d tried to find the Musain – and that really was its name, he hadn’t just misheard and looked for the wrong place for weeks. Apparently he just hadn’t tried hard enough. “I swear, I tried to find it, and I also tried to find you, but I couldn’t. I know this is really weird and sounds like a bad excuse, but I definitely wanted to see you again.”

Enjolras’ frown only deepened. “That’s–”

“I know, you have no reason to believe me,” Grantaire interrupted. “But I’ve been waiting at this bench, you know? Because I thought you might show up again.”

“Well, I’m on my way to meet some friends,” Enjolras said, looking thoughtful now. “I suppose you could come if you wanted to.”

Grantaire knew that it wasn’t the best idea to just take off with some guy he actually barely knew, but he somehow felt like he’d known Enjolras for years. Like they were friends, in a way. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Enjolras only nodded and continued walking, Grantaire following at his heels. They walked along in silence and Grantaire was wondering if it was completely ridiculous that he wanted to hold Enjolras’ hand so badly. He didn’t reach out, though, just trod onwards through the snow, squinting at the buildings around them.

Grantaire knew this city, the way they were going was the same one he took when he walked to work, but the buildings somehow looked different. There were shops and bars he’d never seen and alleys he didn’t recognize. He only snapped out of his confusion when Enjolras suddenly stopped in front of a tiny café. The sign above the door read Musain. It was right there, really hard to miss. Grantaire was starting to seriously doubt himself, because how had he never seen it?

_2 hours and 55 minutes to midnight._

Enjolras dragged him through the raging party in the café to the back, up a narrow staircase and into a smaller room. There were only a few people up here, squeezed onto small couches and perched on mismatched chairs. When they entered, all eyes were on them.

Pointing at Grantaire, Enjolras cleared his throat. “This is Grantaire, he’s a... friend.” He shot Grantaire a look as if he was looking for approval, but before he could even nod, one of Enjolras’ friends was by Grantaire’s side and slung an arm around him to drag him off to one of the couches. Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, a little confused, but Enjolras only shrugged as if to say _just go with it_.

“So, I’m guessing that you’re the super mysterious dude that Enjolras met last year,” the guy mused. “I’m Courfeyrac, this is my boyfriend Jehan,” he added and elbowed the guy next to him in the ribs. “It’s lovely to meet you. Enjolras told us that you might come by for a meeting. He was a bit pissy when you never showed up. I mean, not that he explicitly said it, but we could tell.”

Grantaire actually wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but apparently Courfeyrac wasn’t even expecting an answer and just started telling him everyone’s names. There were Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel and Combeferre; the latter was talking to Enjolras.

Next to him, Courfeyrac and Jehan were chatting, too. “Have you seen Marius around?”

“I’m pretty sure he took off to see Cosette.”

Grantaire managed to pry his eyes off Enjolras for a moment at the mention of that name. He could have sworn that he’d heard it before.

_1 hour and 13 minutes to midnight._

Enjolras had stolen Grantaire away from Courfeyrac and Jehan shortly after and had filled him in on why they had backroom privileges. They were a student activist group and they usually came here for their meetings. They’d actually nearly got into an argument over the activist group thing, because Grantaire hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut and had told Enjolras that he wasn’t sure if such a small group would ever manage to change anything.

And Enjolras hadn’t even been angry, instead he’d just tried to convince Grantaire of the opposite and had started raving about all the things that were wrong in the world and how he was intending to improve them. That had led to them bickering for a while, at least until Bahorel had walked over and had stuffed a chocolate muffin into Enjolras’ mouth to shut him up. His aim hadn’t been perfect, though, and Grantaire could still see some dark crumbs in Enjolras’ hair.

Now they’d moved on to talking about Grantaire’s life. Which really wasn’t his favorite topic.

“So you’ve never thought about going to university? You said you liked painting, I’m sure there are some great art classes.” It was really adorable how optimistic Enjolras was. In a way, it was actually somewhat admirable. But also so far from realistic that it was bordering on laughable.

Grantaire sighed. “I work at a bar and I do tons of side jobs and it’s enough to get by, but not nearly enough to pay for classes.”

Enjolras spent the next half hours telling him about options and scholarships and loans. Grantaire listened. Not because he was actually interested, just because he liked listening to Enjolras. That boy’s enthusiasm was something you didn’t see every day.

_10 minutes to midnight._

Enjolras’ friends were slowly but surely starting to make their way outside to welcome the New Year while the two of them remained seated on the couch they’d claimed earlier. Courfeyrac was the last one to leave, not without winking at Grantaire when Enjolras wasn’t looking.

Grantaire bit his lip. “Do you want to go outside or...?”

“Or we could just stay here.”

“Excellent idea, yeah, we should do that.”

Enjolras hummed. “I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“That’s... yeah, me too.”

“So,” Enjolras mumbled, inching a little closer now.

“So....” Grantaire echoed. It had been a while since Grantaire had last kissed someone on New Year’s Eve. Because that was definitely what was going to happen here. He closed his eyes, let Enjolras close the distance between them. His heart was racing when their lips touched, gently at first, but their kiss quickly grew deeper. They only pulled apart when someone outside let out a screech and people were loudly wishing each other a happy new year.

Grantaire grinned. “Happy New Year,” he whispered and pulled Enjolras closer again.

_7 hours after midnight._

Grantaire woke up with his head leaning against Enjolras’ shoulder and an arm wrapped around him, and also with the strangest feeling, like something really terribly wrong.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Soft morning light was streaming through the windows of the Musain. Feuilly and Bahorel both worked at the Musain, so they’d been allowed to spend the night up here. Courfeyrac was lying on one of the couches with Jehan sleeping right on top of him, Combeferre was still sitting at the table, his head resting on an empty plate, Joly was sleeping draped over three chairs, and Bossuet and Feuilly were using Bahorel as a pillow.

Grantaire took a deep breath, still not sure why he was feeling so strangely panicky and eventually decided that he probably just needed some fresh air. When he tried to stand up, Enjolras tugged at his shirt.

“I’ll be right back. I just want to go outside for a minute,” Grantaire mumbled and kissed Enjolras’ temple. He was pretty sure he was allowed to do that.

Enjolras nodded. “The key is on the table next to the stairs.”

Grantaire made his way over to the stairs and picked up the key. He quickly walked downstairs and unlocked the door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as soon as he was outside. He instantly felt better.

But when he opened his eyes again, the other side of the street looked completely different than it had just a couple of seconds ago. Although Grantaire knew this street, he knew it well. He turned around and behind him was not the Café Musain but an antiques shop that he’d walked past a billion times on the way to work.

 

**2006 – January**

There was no rational explanation for what was happening to him. Maybe he was hallucinating, maybe he was having a stroke. Grantaire pinched himself, but nothing at all changed. He walked back to the shop and looked in through the door, his nose pressed against the glass as if by that he could someone go back to the Musain. Back to Enjolras.

Grantaire had no idea what to feel. He was confused and angry and anxious, but mainly confused. He took a step back, walked up and down the street, back to the shop, trying to think of a plausible explanation for this.

He’d told Enjolras that he’d be back in a minute and that minute had come and gone. Grantaire had no idea what to do, so he just remained standing in front of the shop until he was shivering from the cold. He’d left his jacket upstairs. With Enjolras.

Now he really wanted to get into that shop, although he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to find anything in there. But he needed to do _something_ , although he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get a chance to explain this to Enjolras. Not that he had any idea what was happening. Enjolras would think that he’d left without another word.

Grantaire frowned at his reflection in the shop window. He wasn’t going to find any answers here. Not right now. The sign at the door read _CLOSED – we’ll be back for you on January 9_.

He took a deep breath, made sure to remember the address of the store and then very slowly started walking homewards, still wondering if there was any way at all to somehow make sense of all this.

 

**2006 – February**

Grantaire had gone back to the shop a couple of days later. He’d not yet managed to come up with a reasonable approach, still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to ask once he got to talk to the store’s owner.

He’d been a bit of a mess after New Year’s. He hadn’t shown up at work for a couple of days, which had nearly got him fired, but he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to roll out of bed. Eponine had come by, had manhandled him into the shower and had cooked him some pity pasta, as she’d called it. Grantaire still felt vaguely guilty, because Eponine had apparently also lied to their boss so he wouldn’t lose his job after all.

Grantaire hadn’t told her why exactly he’d been so upset and he wasn’t going to. She’d think that he was losing it. Which was probably true, but he just chose not to think too much about that.

Back at the antiques shop Grantaire had talked to a young girl. He’d asked her about the building, pretending that he was interested in the architecture, but she hadn’t been able to tell him much and had eventually advised him to come round again when her father was back. Grantaire had thanked her and had ever since always peered inside the shop when he walked past the shop to see if the girl’s father was there.

A couple of weeks later he finally got lucky. Or at least this time he saw a man standing behind the counter. When Grantaire walked into the shop, the man looked up, seeming almost surprised, as if no one had come through that door for ages. “How can I help you?” he asked, setting down the pair of candlesticks that he’d been inspecting.

Grantaire jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a brand new one that he’d bought to replace the one he’d lost on New Year’s Eve. He was suddenly feeling really nervous. “Sir, I’m really sorry, I’m not actually here to buy anything, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions about this building,” he said quickly while me made his way to the counter through a maze of old furniture and knickknack. “I talked to your, um, I think your daughter. She said you’d be able to help me.”

The man nodded. “Ah yes, she mentioned you. What would you like to know?”

“Do you happen to know if there was a café in here at some point?” Grantaire asked. It must sound like a ridiculous question, especially if this place had never actually been a café.

If the man was confused by his question, he certainly didn’t show it. He nodded. “Yes, there was. Wait here, I have some pictures for you.” He vanished into some backroom and returned with a stack of photos. “It was called the Café Musain. It was really popular back in the day, you know?”

“I...  no, I only moved here a couple of years ago.”

“I see. Well, I bought these rooms nearly ten years ago. The owner’s wife had just died and he didn’t want to keep the café. I’m sure it must have been a hard decision to make. I know that he was unsure what to do for the longest time.” He handed Grantaire a few of the pictures. “It was a lovely place.”

Grantaire stared down at the photo with wide eyes. He recognized the sign above the door, the interior of the place, although it didn’t look exactly the same. “Yes, I... it’s really nice, yeah.”

“I can scan the pictures for you if you’d like.”

“No, it’s find, I’ve... found what I was looking for,” Grantaire said and clumsily handed back the pictures. “I have to go, but thank you so much for your help, it was really... helpful.”

Grantaire stumbled back outside, walking away quickly, the most ridiculous ideas coursing through his mind. The first one was that he might have travelled through time. Maybe he’d gone back to the past where the Musain had still existed. But Grantaire distinctly remembered Courfeyrac wearing 2006 sunglasses at one point. So time travel was out. Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not he was relieved.

But that café in the pictures that the shop owner had shown him was definitely the same café that Grantaire had spent New Year’s Eve at. Well, except for a few subtle changes. So what if the Musain’s owner hadn’t sold the café, had kept it and had renovated it at some point? It might have actually looked like the Musain that Grantaire had seen, the same Musain as in the pictures, only ten years later.

Grantaire wasn’t a stranger to science fiction shows and books, so he was vaguely familiar with the idea of parallel universes. He didn’t even want to think about it too much because he was scared that it might make his head explode, but what if the Musain still existed parallel to the antiques shop.

Grantaire shook his head at himself. It was completely unrealistic.

 

**2006 – May**

Grantaire still thought about Enjolras all the time. About them kissing on New Year’s Eve.  About waking up with his head pillowed on Enjolras’ shoulder.

He’d told Enjolras that he’d be right back and there was no way that Grantaire would ever be able to make it right that he hadn’t come back like he’d promised. He was vaguely aware that this wasn’t actually his fault, that what had happened to him was something else entirely, but still.

At first he’d tried to keep himself busy, had taken extra shifts at work, had found a semi-regular job at a 24-hour-gym where he could take shifts in the mornings or afternoons and could still go back to his job at the Corinthe in the evenings.

He also painted whenever he had time. He wanted to paint something good, something he’d actually like and wanted others to see, mainly because Eponine had made a new friend – a friend who had three jobs, two boyfriends and four cats and didn’t have the slightest problem with keeping up with all of those. Anyway, one of those three jobs was at an indie art gallery and apparently she’d really liked the painting that Grantaire had given to Eponine for her birthday three years ago. And apparently she really wanted to show some of Grantaire’s pictures to the people at the gallery.

When she eventually sold one, Grantaire even managed to be a little bit proud of himself.

He didn’t get nowhere near enough money for it to call it a roaring success, but still, someone had wanted to buy his art. He was still very much in need of his two jobs, but it was something.

On his way to work he still walked past the antiques shop and the more he thought about it all, the more he wanted answers.

 

**2006 – July**

Grantaire tried to find out more about the Musain. He didn’t dare to go back to the antiques shop, though, because he was still a little embarrassed about his last visit.

He found another option when Gavroche dragged him to the library. On his first visit he obviously spent all of his time in the children’s section, but after a couple of days he came back. The cool air in the library was a nice change to the hot summer air and he spent hours searching the aisles and flicking through books about the universe and strange theories, some of them even stranger than what he had come up with months ago.

It was still interesting and he had soon found a favorite spot at a table in the back of the library where he could read in a quiet corner that was lit up by the afternoon sun on nice days. Sometimes he also went there in the evening when he didn’t have a shift to work at the bar.

One evening, when the library was about to close for the night, he was carrying an especially heavy pile of books back to where they belong and, not looking where he was going because he was concentrating on not dropping any of the books, he walked right into another guy, the books loudly clattering to the floor. So much for not dropping them.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t see–” Grantaire froze when he saw who he’d run into. “Courfeyrac?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, I’m okay and I’m pretty sure the books will survive as well,” Courfeyrac said, eyeing Grantaire with a frown. “Wait, do I know you? Are you in one of my classes?”

“You don’t remember me?” Grantaire tried not to sound too disappointed. It had been a flicker of hope, or maybe a little more than that, maybe it had been a fucking huge beacon of hope. “I’m Grantaire, I met you and Jehan and everyone on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said, smiling now. “Man, I wish I could remember, sorry. I was ridiculously wasted and I don’t remember a thing. This is kinda embarrassing. Um, who is Jehan, by the way?”

“I...” Grantaire trailed off, not sure how to explain any of this. Because telling him that Jehan was his boyfriend wouldn’t go over well, since he quite obviously wasn’t.

“There are probably tons of people I don’t remember,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “But hey, if we met on New Year’s, do you maybe know what the hell happened to my shirt?”

“No, sorry,” Grantaire mumbled.

Courfeyrac sighed. “I really liked that shirt,” he muttered and then knelt down to help Grantaire with his books. “So, what do you study?”

“I... don’t,” Grantaire said. “I work at the Corinthe, maybe you know it, we get a lot of students there.”

“Oh, I’ve never been there,” Courfeyrac said, “but I know some guys who go there a lot. Maybe I should go with them sometime. Are you gonna get your new friend Courfeyrac a free drink when he comes by?”

“Definitely,” Grantaire said, trying to sound pleasant and not utterly confused. “I’ll see you around, then?”

Courfeyrac gave him a pat on the back. “You can count on it, man.”

 

**2006 – October**

“I met a guy,” Courfeyrac said loudly as he burst into Grantaire’s apartment without a warning. He noisily stumbled over empty beer cans and, not for the first time, Grantaire asked himself why he’d given Courfeyrac a key in the first place.

Well, they’d had a pretty great summer together. Courfeyrac had taken him to uni parties, Grantaire had taken Courfeyrac to the Corinthe and at some point Courfeyrac had spent so much time on his couch that Grantaire had decided to give him his spare key.

Grantaire liked having Courfeyrac around, even though all of this was still really strange for him. He hadn’t told Courfeyrac the actual story of how they’d met, especially since the Courfeyrac he’d met on New Year’s wasn’t the same Courfeyrac that had just come running into his apartment. _Noisily_.

Grantaire groaned and buried his face deeper in his pillow. Maybe it would swallow him up and take him to a place where he could sleep forever.

Courfeyrac sat down next to him on the mattress, bouncing a little and elbowing Grantaire in the ribs. “Stop sleeping, I have exciting news.”

“I know, you met a guy. But doesn’t that happen like every other day,” Grantaire mumbled into his pillow, hitting in the general direction of where he thought Courfeyrac was sitting.

The mattress shook when Courfeyrac scooted out of the way. “No, listen... it’s different this time. He’s amazing, I mean, he’s like... the greatest person I’ve ever met. And I really don’t want to fuck this up, so you need to help me.”

Grantaire opened his eyes at that. “Wait, you want to,” he narrowed his eyes, “ _date_ him?”

“Stop it,” Courfeyrac said and hit him in the face with a pillow. “I know that this wasn’t exactly the summer of serious relationships, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t date at all. It’s nice to have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. A romantic and sexual acquaintance.”

“Okay, I get it.” Grantaire sat up. “I’m listening.”

“Good. So I was at this party last night and there was this guy and he made me this really cool drink and we kinda ended up talking all night and did I mention that he’s amazing,” Courfeyrac said, the biggest smile on his face. “Oh, and he has really nice hair. Like, there were actual real flowers in his hair. He grows them on his balcony. How do you even ask someone like that out? He’s too cool for me. And I seriously didn’t think that I’d ever say those words.”

Grantaire snorted and pulled his duvet over his head. “Seriously, just ask him out, it’s not that hard.” Solid advice.

“It is, though. He’s completely out of my league.” Courfeyrac pulled the duvet back down. “Stop sleeping. I need a plan, you need to help me think up a plan.”

“I’m really not the best person to give you advice,” Grantaire muttered. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in years. And he’d even managed to fuck those up.

“Come on, Grantaire. We’re bros. And bros help each other out.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fine, okay. Did you at least ask him for his number?”

“Of course, you know how good I am at asking for numbers,” Courfeyrac said and pulled out his phone. “So you think I should text him?”

“That’d be a good start, I guess.”

“And what am I supposed to say?”

“Coffee.”

“Just _coffee_?”

“Well, you can put some other words around it, make it sound nicer or whatever,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But I guess coffee is a good idea. Or food.”

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s too cool for coffee?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Fine, I’ll ask him,” Courfeyrac grumbled. “But I’m gonna need something ridiculously awesome for our second date.”

“Second date, huh? Someone’s optimistic.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” Courfeyrac said and ruffled his hair. “Okay, I’m gonna do it, yeah?”

“Yeah. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Courfeyrac sighed and tucked Grantaire in with a sweet smile on his face. “Fine, sleep well you little shit.”

Grantaire snorted and watched Courfeyrac type out his text. He was at least a little bit curious now, because when he’d first met Courfeyrac, he’d already had a boyfriend. “What his name, by the way?”

“His name’s Jean,” Courfeyrac said, his smile growing even broader, “but everyone calls him Jehan.”

Grantaire couldn’t say he was surprised. “I can’t wait to meet him,” he said lowly. He was really glad that Courfeyrac didn’t seem to remember him mentioning Jehan when they’d met at the library.

 

**2006 – New Year’s Eve**

Grantaire was sitting on his bed, brooding. Courfeyrac had invited him to a party, but Jehan was going too and Grantaire wasn’t so sure if he wanted to spend the evening with a couple. Jehan, by the way, had turned out to be almost exactly like the Jehan that Grantaire had met before, only with much, _much_ longer hair. Anyway, Grantaire could also swing by Eponine’s place. She wasn’t having a party this year because Gavroche was sick, but she probably wouldn’t mind having a couple of drinks with him.

And yet there was something else that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since Courfeyrac and Jehan had started dating. Grantaire had found Courfeyrac and Courfeyrac had found Jehan, so maybe Enjolras was out there somewhere as well. Although it probably wouldn’t be the same Enjolras.

But Grantaire hadn’t found him yet. So Grantaire was also playing with the thought of just going back to the bench. The year before it had been his only option, but now everything was different. There was a good chance that Enjolras wasn’t going to show up. And if he did, Grantaire still had no idea who to explain any of this.

He needed to decide soon, otherwise he might end up sitting on his bed with an half-empty bottle of wine for the rest of the evening.

_3 hours and 40 minutes to midnight._

Grantaire could already see him from afar, leaning against the bench, facing away from the river. He looked like the night they’d first met, like a statue carved out of stone. Grantaire stopped dead when he spotted him, even though he was very well aware that it was too late to turn around now. He took a deep breath and walked on.

Enjolras didn’t say anything when Grantaire walked up to him. He only tilted his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. Eventually he held up a familiar green jacket. “I thought you might want this back.”

Grantaire wordlessly took it, his eyes never leaving Enjolras.

“I tried to find you,” Enjolras said lowly, “before today, I mean. I was so angry at you when you just took off.” He bit his lip and Grantaire had a feeling that some of that anger might still be there, just slumbering below the surface.

“I’m so sorry.”

Enjolras nodded. “I’m sure you are. See, I went looking for the Corinthe because you said you worked there. I found out that it was closed in 2002.  So naturally I thought that you were probably, as Courfeyrac put it, _full of shit_.” He took a deep breath. “But then I remembered that you told me that you were trying to find me after we met but that you couldn’t.”

“I _really_ couldn’t,” Grantaire said firmly. “Why would I lie about any of that?”

Enjolras hummed. “I thought I’d come here today. See if you’d show up. Because I figured that if you were lying to me and just didn’t want to see me anymore, you wouldn’t show up. But here you are.”

“I didn’t want to just leave, I promise,” Grantaire said. “I, um, I sort of have a theory about all of this. It’s going to sound completely ridiculous, but–”

“Tell me about it,” Enjolras interrupted.

Grantaire held out his hand, smiling when Enjolras took it. “Come with me?”

Enjolras nodded and let Grantaire drag him along. And Grantaire talked, about the Musain, about the antiques shop, about what he’d read up on at the library. It was pretty clear that in the beginning he didn’t know whether or not to believe Grantaire, but the further they walked into the city, the wider Enjolras’ eyes got. He was seeing it too as Grantaire led him through the streets – the subtle differences in a city that should be so familiar to him.

_2 hours and 45 minutes to midnight._

“So, you think that we can only see each other on New Year’s Eve,” Enjolras mumbled as Grantaire unlocked the door to this apartment.

“I guess so? I’m not sure but we haven’t been able to find each other on any other day, have we? I mean, I’m very well aware that it sounds weird.” He opened the door for Enjolras and switched on the lights before he carelessly threw his coat and the jacket that Enjolras had brought back over his coat rack. “It’s not much,” Grantaire added, nodding at his tiny apartment, “but it’s enough for me and the rent is actually pretty reasonable.”

Enjolras didn’t seem to be bothered by the size of Grantaire’s apartment. It was the incredibly strange situation that they found themselves in that was still on his mind. “But how is this even possible? It can’t be.”

“As I said, I know that it sounds really weird,” Grantaire muttered. He closed the door and leaned back against it. “I’ve read tons of books about this sort of things. There are theories about parallel universes, but I’m pretty sure that most of it is nothing but speculation.”

“Well,” Enjolras said and stepped over to him, “I suppose we should make good use of the time that we have.” He leaned in, his nose brushing against Grantaire’s. “That okay?”

Grantaire only nodded. He wasn’t quite sure how words worked anymore.

 Enjolras gave Grantaire a gentle kiss, sadly just a quick one. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” Grantaire said quickly. “Can we go back to kissing?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, but something in his tone of voice told Grantaire that this conversation wasn’t actually over yet.

_2 hours and 10 minutes to midnight._

They’d ended up on the couch, Enjolras’ coat on the floor, his head now pillowed on Grantaire’s chest. One of Grantaire’s hands was still caught under Enjolras’ sweater, the other one was running through his hair.

Grantaire had no idea why they were doing this, there was absolutely no point to it at all because tomorrow Enjolras would likely be gone from his life again. Maybe he just shouldn’t question this. _Any_ of this. It was happening and maybe it was for the best if he stopped looking for a why.

Enjolras eventually untangled himself, much too soon for Grantaire’s taste, and sat up. “So,” he said, “how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire said lightly.

“Okay, and how are you _really_ doing?”

Grantaire sighed. “Why do you think I’m not _really_ doing fine?”

“You don’t have a bed,” Enjolras said. “And that painting over there by the window looks vaguely worrying. And there are three empty wine bottles on your coffee table, so either you’re not a very tidy person or you drink too much wine.”

“Wow, it’s like you know everything about me.”

Enjolras made a disapproving noise. “How much do you drink?”

“Not that much.” Grantaire shrugged. “It’s been worse. And, by the way, I have a bed, I just don’t have a frame for it, okay? And that painting is for a friend of mine. He likes pretty weird stuff, I mean, his favorite place is the catacombs.”

“Okay, I can accept that, but the drinking–”

“Is none of your fucking business,” Grantaire said loudly. “You don’t get to show up once a year and judge me. You barely even know me. There’s nothing for you to accept or not accept.”

Enjolras sighed. “I know that. I know we barely know each other. This is unlike anything that has ever happened to me. But, for whatever strange reason, I care about you. And I want you to be okay, is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t make it sound so high and mighty,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not one of your causes.”

Enjolras folded his arms across his chest. “Of course not. I just don’t understand why you would throw away your life like this. I mean, look at your paintings. You’re so talented.”

“Yeah, okay, but that’s not how it works, Enjolras. I’ve sold like four paintings in the past year. That’s not enough. I won’t sell paintings and suddenly be happy just because I’m talented. Just like you won’t change anything just because you’re good with words.”

“Thank you ever so much for reminding me that I won’t accomplish anything with my activism. It’s a bit like talking to my father.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grantaire groaned. “That’s not what I was trying to say at all. My point is that it’s not that easy.”

Enjolras huffed, still hovering in the middle of the room, looking like he was about to start shouting at any given moment. It was quite fascinating to watch.

“Would you just come back over here,” Grantaire finally said.

Enjolras pursed his lips, huffed again, but eventually joined Grantaire on the couch again.

_5 minutes to midnight._

They’d spent some time talking – and also arguing – but had after a while they’d simply gone back to kissing. Neither of them was actually planning on stopping right now, neither of them was paying attention to what time it was.

Midnight came and went, and Enjolras stayed.

_8 hours after midnight._

When Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open in the morning, Enjolras was gone. Grantaire had tried so hard to stay awake, but he’d obviously failed. They’d talked a lot that night. Grantaire had told Enjolras a lot of stories, had told him about Courfeyrac and Jehan, about Musichetta, who’d sold some of his paintings.

Grantaire wondered when Enjolras had had to leave, a little sad that he hadn’t got to say goodbye to him. But there was a note on the coffee table.

_I didn’t want to wake you up, you looked like you needed the sleep. Have a good year and, if you want, I’ll see you again by the river. What are 365 days anyway, right?_

_Maybe I can show you my place next year._

_x Enjolras_

Grantaire let out the breath he’d been holding while he’d read Enjolras’ note. He’d make it through this year and they’d see each other again.

 

**2007 – March**

When Grantaire knocked on Courfeyrac’s door, dripping all over his welcome mat since he’d managed to get caught in the rain without an umbrella, it was Jehan who opened the door for him. “Grantaire, there you are,” he said, beaming at him as he pulled him into a hug despite his wet jacket. “Come in, Courfeyrac will be right back, he just went to get us some food.”

Jehan went to get them both something to drink while Grantaire sat down on the couch, looking around, noticing all the traces that Jehan had left behind in Courfeyrac’s apartment. It was nothing too obvious, just a book on the catacombs here, one about Romantic poetry there, a new plant in the corner, an incredibly colorful scarf slung over an armchair.

Grantaire was handed a glass of water and Jehan joined him on the couch. He was wearing one of Courfeyrac’s shirts today, quite possibly the most colorful one that Courfeyrac owned.

Jehan watched him for a moment, his head tilted. “You look happy,” he said eventually. 

Grantaire couldn’t really keep himself from grinning broadly. “Do I?”

“Oh my god, what happened?” Jehan asked, grabbing his arm. “Tell me everything.”

“I will tell you, but not until Courfeyrac gets back.”

“You’re no fun,” Jehan said, but he was grinning back at him. The second he heard Courfeyrac’s key in the door, he jumped up and stomped off, reappearing with Courfeyrac in tow only seconds later.

Courfeyrac laughed. “You must be really hungry,” he said. He put down a huge plastic bag full of takeout boxes down on the table and then went on to greet Grantaire by tousling his hair. When he reached out to open one of the boxes, Jehan batted his hands away. “What.”

“Forget the food, Grantaire has news for us.”

“Oh, Grantaire has news,” Courfeyrac said, turning to Grantaire with wide eyes. “Pray tell, friend, did you finally get laid?”

Jehan playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “Will you shut up.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or did you?”

Grantaire laughed but shook his head. “No, it’s something completely different. Um, so you guys remember Eponine’s friend who’s been selling some of my paintings, right?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Musichetta? Yeah, she also works at that really amazing coffee shop across from campus, the one that has the really great...” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “Anyway, yes, we remember her.”

“Well, I met up with her this morning. At the really amazing coffee shop,” Grantaire said, “and she told me that she’s planning on opening her own art gallery with a friend and she asked me if I wanted to be in on it, too.”

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac said and pulled him into a hug.

Jehan squealed and wrapped his arms around both of them. “That’s great news, I’m so happy for you.”

Grantaire was pretty sure that his cheeks were going to get sore because he was smiling so much – if cheeks were something that could get sore. But he was so unbelievably happy right now and that was really all that mattered.

“You did say yes, right?” Courfeyrac asked after a while.

Grantaire snorted. “’Course I did.”

He had no idea if it was going to work out and he was definitely going to keep his job at the bar, just as a precaution, and also because this whole thing wouldn’t end up being cheap, but still, things were definitely looking up for him right now.

 

**2007 – September**

“Oh my god, there are so many people here,” Grantaire whispered, staring at the dozens of people that were crowded in the small gallery. _His_ gallery. Well, not entirely his, but a third his. Musichetta and Feuilly – yes, _that_ Feuilly – were in the crowd, talking to potential customers while Grantaire was having a short and quiet freak-out in the corner.

Jehan and Eponine had come by as well to help hand out drinks and appetizers to new visitors while Courfeyrac hadn’t left Grantaire’s side all evening. “Hey,” Courfeyrac said, “it’s a good thing that there are so many people here. They’re interested and they’re probably going to buy tons of stuff.”

They were mainly promoting new artists that were just starting out, but Feuilly and Musichetta had insisted that Grantaire should also have a couple of slots. And Grantaire was happy, he was _so_ happy, but it was still a bit too much for him right now. “I need a drink.”

“You quit, remember?” Courfeyrac reminded him with a bright smile.

Not that Grantaire needed a reminder, he was still very well aware. Except that he hadn’t actually quit, he’d just cut down on his drinks-per-week ratio dramatically. Still, it felt like an accomplishment. Even though he kept saying that it was the worst idea he’d ever had.

It was something that he’d had to do. Once they’d started making plans for the gallery, when they’d started looking for suitable rooms and had started discussing what kind of art they were looking for, Grantaire had promised himself that he’d make sure that he’d be one hundred percent reliable. It wasn’t just his ass that was one the line here.

The whole thing hadn’t been easy and he wasn’t quite sure why he still had friends since he’d been a massive dick for the longest time just because he’d been frustrated with himself and yet they were all here today. He’d ended up quitting his job at the Corinthe after all and had found another one just down the street from the gallery at an art supply store.

He was okay. Most of the time. And at least ninety-eight percent reliable – on the good days. He also had the most understanding business partners he could wish for, so it wasn’t all that bad.  

And now here he was, people coming to shake his hand, telling him how much they loved the gallery and his work and all Grantaire could do was stammer _thank you_ s and smile until he was sure that he’d never be able to make any other facial expression again. In the end, he hardly remembered anything, it was really all a blur of faces and small talk.

“I already have a couple of offers,” Musichetta said to him after most of the visitors have left. “For your stuff, too.” She sighed happily. “God, I wish my boys could have been here tonight.”

“Yeah, why aren’t they here?” Feuilly asked.

“One of them has the flu, poor guy,” Musichetta said. “But you’ll meet them soon enough, I promise.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “We should all get together sometime,” he said, poking Eponine, “at your place.”

Eponine narrowed her eyes at him. “Or at your place.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find a suitable place,” Feuilly threw in. “By the way, are there any leftover appetizers?”

Grantaire listened to his friends’ idle chatter with a smile, too exhausted to say anything right now. The nervousness was slowly falling away, but the excitement was still there. He just wished he had some way to somehow tell Enjolras about this.

He’d be able to, just a couple of months from now, but it still seemed ages away.

 

**2007 – New Year’s Eve**

This year it was Grantaire who was waiting for Enjolras. He was walking up and down the river, getting more and more impatient.

He’d kept looking at the note that Enjolras had left him again and again during the last couple of weeks. Enjolras had promised that they’d see each other again, but how could he promise that? A year was a long time. A lot could happen in a year, Grantaire knew that now. He’d met so many people, he’d done so much. His whole life had changed in a matter of months. And even though Grantaire had had a busy year, he’d never really stopped thinking about Enjolras. He still had those painting from ages ago, now safely tucked away in his closet.

Grantaire stopped next to the bench, sat down for a moment, but soon started pacing again. What if things had changed for Enjolras too? Who said that he’d be able to keep the promise he’d made?

Grantaire had been here for hours, even though he was sure that Enjolras wasn’t going to show up until much later. If he showed up at all. Maybe he’d forgotten all about Grantaire. They weren’t together, how could they be, they only saw each other once a year and Grantaire had no idea what exactly it was that they had. It certainly wasn’t a relationship. He did feel connected to Enjolras, but he didn’t even know when his birthday was, or where he’d grown up, or why he’d even come to that bench in the first place.

The more Grantaire thought about it, whether he had a quiet moment at work or was lying awake at night, the more often he caught himself thinking that he probably wasn’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to know each other. They’d met because of some strange coincidence and a part of him was aware that holding on to this was a mistake and that it couldn’t work in the long run, but he wasn’t ready to let go. He had to see Enjolras tonight.

But he was still worried. Minutes ticked by and the sun was starting to set and Enjolras hadn’t shown up yet. Grantaire didn’t seem to be able to think about anything else right now. Enjolras had probably graduated from university, had found a job, and maybe he’d met someone. Someone who was always there. Someone he could see, someone he could touch.

So how could he have promised?

_6 hours and 15 minutes to midnight._

Grantaire had given up on the pacing. He was sitting on the bench now, completely still, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. Snowflakes were settling all around him, on his head, on the ground.  He could just leave, go home, or go to the party that his friends were throwing. Their group of friends was growing steadily and Grantaire had finally met Musichetta’s boyfriends, who’d turned out to be no other than Joly and Bossuet.

Just when he’d seriously started to consider leaving, Grantaire heard a voice call out his name. He perked up immediately and found Enjolras striding towards him. He still looked the same, still wore the same red coat, but when they were finally face to face, Grantaire noticed that Enjolras was looking more tired that the last time they’d seen each other, still, he was smiling down at him.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Grantaire said and pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly for a long moment.

Enjolras’ arms came up around him too. “What do you mean? I’ve been here for two hours.”

Grantaire pulled away, frowning. “Seriously? Because I was waiting for you too, how the hell didn’t I see you?”

“Maybe you couldn’t?” Enjolras mused. “At least not yet?”

“This is freaky,” Grantaire muttered and took his hand. “But hey, here we are, right?”

Enjolras nodded, looking vaguely uneasy as well. “Yes, here we are. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Grantaire said and gave him another hug that turned into a languid kiss halfway through. “By the way, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“How about you tell me on the way to my place?”

_4 hours and 15 minutes to midnight._

Enjolras’ apartment was spacious, much tidier than Grantaire’s, although there were hints of an organized mess all over the place, like Enjolras desk that was bending under stacks of paper and open books. And empty plate sat on one of them and Grantaire could practically see Enjolras working there until the middle of the night, absent-mindedly eating whatever he’d found in the fridge.

Grantaire had wandered about the apartment for a bit, looking at Enjolras books and peeking into rooms, then they’d cooked dinner together. Now Enjolras was standing by the window, staring outside with a smile on his face. The apartment had a perfect view of the river, just a little further into the city – it must be costing Enjolras a fortune.

Grantaire walked up behind him, his arms sneaking around Enjolras’ waist. “This place is really nice.”

Enjolras leaned back against him with a hum. “I’m actually not here that much. You know that job I told you about? It actually involves a lot of travelling.”

“Oh,” was pretty much all Grantaire could manage. They both talked about the things that were happening in their lives like they were nothing, like there weren’t 364 days separating them. They only had this one night and the rest was nothing but a story to tell. But yes, Enjolras had found a job representing a charity organization, just like Grantaire had his art gallery.

Grantaire stood on his tiptoes and kissed the back Enjolras’ neck, slowly swaying to the sound of the music that was playing somewhere outside.

Enjolras laughed lowly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire mumbled and kissed him again. Then he took one of Enjolras’ hands and spun him around before Enjolras stumbled back into his arms, now facing him. It was a little awkward, slowdancing in the small space between the couch and Enjolras’ bookshelves, so Grantaire dragged him into the middle of the room where they had more space to move.

The y probably didn’t look too graceful, but it was just the two of them and once they’d settled into a rhythm, their dancing didn’t feel quite as clumsy anymore. Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’ chest and closed his eyes. He didn’t even want to think about the fact that all of this was just temporary and that they’d both be back to their separate lives in just a couple of hours.

Even when the music died down, they still kept dancing along to an inaudible song until Enjolras bent down to kiss him and they started stumbling again. Their kisses grew deeper, messier, and they stopped moving entirely, just clinging to each other now.

Enjolras’ hands wandered under Grantaire’s shirt, making him shiver. “Come with me?”

Grantaire nodded and let Enjolras lead him down the hall to his bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. When Enjolras pushed him down onto the mattress, Grantaire eventually forgot about everything else.

They were together tonight and that was all that mattered for now.

_2 hours to midnight._

“How do you think this works?”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “What exactly?”

“Well, we both live in a different version of Paris, I suppose? You came to the Musain with me two years ago and then last year I came with you. How do we cross over from one version of the city to another?”

“You don’t seriously believe that I’m able to answer this question, right?”

“But you must have thought about it.”

Of course Grantaire had thought about it. He’d spent way too much time to thinking about this, but he’d never come to any conclusion at all. He’d just given himself headaches. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I _know_.”

“So, what’s your theory?”

“My theory is that there’s some really freaky shit happening to us.”

Enjolras huffed out a laugh. “Pretty inconclusive.”

“Well, it’s not an everyday thing that you meet someone from a parallel universe,” Grantaire mumbled. He moved to kiss Enjolras’ shoulder. “I don’t think that this is ever going to make sense.”

“So you think we come from parallel universes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stop saying that,” Enjolras said and gave him a playful shove. “I just want some answers.”

Grantaire sighed and pulled Enjolras on top of him. “We’re not going to find them tonight, so can we just talk about something else? Or _do_ something else?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said and pulled him into a kiss.

_10 minutes to midnight._

Enjolras was lying on his side, his arm slung around Grantaire, his nose pressed into Grantaire’s upper arm. Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not he should wake him up. He was sleeping so peacefully, but it was nearly midnight.

Maybe listening to Enjolras’ quiet snores was enough for now.  After a few minutes he reached out, very carefully, and started running his fingers through his curls. It wasn’t until fireworks were starting to go off outside that Enjolras stirred and inched closer.

“Is it midnight already?” Enjolras asked, his voice husky.

Grantaire hummed in affirmation. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m awake.” Enjolras gave him a sloppy kiss and sat up. “We only have a couple of hours left, I can sleep some other time.”

Grantaire smirked. “Actually, there’s something I meant to ask you. When is your birthday?”

_2 hours after midnight._

They’d pretty much covered every topic under the sun. They’d talked about their childhoods, their time at school, Enjolras had shown him pictures of the dog he’d got for his seventh birthday, then he’d told him about his plan to study abroad, which he hadn’t done because he’d ended up founding his activist group.

Grantaire, in turn, told him about his friends, but didn’t tell him too much about the subtle differences that he’d noticed. And then there was also the gallery and his new job.   

“I wish I could see that art gallery of yours,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire squeezed his hand. “Maybe next year?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Even when Enjolras fell asleep again a while later, Grantaire didn’t allow himself to close his eyes.

_7 hours after midnight._

Grantaire stayed as long as he possibly could.

He kissed Enjolras’ temple before he left.  He didn’t wake up when Grantaire climbed out of bed. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should leave a note or not. In the end he decided against it. No promises this time.

But when Grantaire pulled his clothes back on, he left his shirt lying on the floor and picked up Enjolras’ sweater instead. He somehow had a feeling that Enjolras wouldn’t mind.

 

**2008 – January**

Grantaire missed him.

And sure, maybe he should have expected this, but somehow this year it was worse than the year before.

His friends noticed that _something_ was wrong. He hadn’t told them what he was doing on New Year’s Eve, just that he already had plans. Eponine eyed him suspiciously and Grantaire found himself wondering how much she actually knew.

Courfeyrac found Enjolras’ sweater slung over Grantaire’s couch. “I didn’t know you owned anything red,” he said, but didn’t push it when Grantaire only shrugged in reply.

What were 365 days?

Well, as far as Grantaire was concerned, they were a damn long time.

 

**2008 – May**

Grantaire bought a bottle of wine, just to pour it down his kitchen sink the second he got home.

He was being ridiculous, his whole life was ridiculous. Grantaire knew that he couldn’t keep going like this for much longer.

It had been months and Grantaire still felt guilty that he hadn’t said goodbye to Enjolras that night. He should have at least written him a note, should have told him to meet him again, same spot, same time.

Now he wasn’t sure if Enjolras was going to show up. And it’d be months until Grantaire would finally find out.

 

**2008 – September**

He was better now, although he still dreamt of Enjolras occasionally. It wasn’t easy. Especially because he knew that he needed to do something about this and deep down he knew that there was only one option other than just keeping this up indefinitely.

One night when he was especially frustrated, he told Jehan. They were at a party at Eponine’s and Grantaire had gone outside to take a break from all the noise. Jehan had sat down next to him on the front steps, they’d shared a cigarette and Grantaire had just started talking.

Well, Grantaire didn’t tell him the whole story, just that he’d met a guy and that they kept meeting on New Year’s Eve and _only_ on New Year’s Eve. He neglected to mention that it was actually the only evening they could ever see each other. It sounded entirely too impossible. Which it was, in a way.

Maybe he should have put a little more trust in Jehan, maybe he would have believed the whole story, because there was very little that Jehan didn’t believe in. He’d found a friend who wasn’t completely opposed to walk around cemeteries to go ghost-hunting – Jehan had just met Combeferre at a bookstore one day, now he was a regular part of their group.

Anyway, it felt good to share the story, even if it was only a fragment. Jehan didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, he just listened and smiled encouragingly every now and again.

“Thanks for telling me,” Jehan said once Grantaire had finished. He gave him a hug. “I’m always here for you if you want to talk about anything at all and so is Courfeyrac and everyone else, I promise. We love you.”

Grantaire only nodded and hugged him back.

 

**2008 – New Year’s Eve**

Enjolras was late. It was past ten already and he’d always shown up earlier than that. Grantaire had been waiting for hours and he instantly jumped up when he finally saw Enjolras approaching their bench.

“There you are,” Grantaire said. He’d been so excited to see him for weeks now, hadn’t paid his doubts any mind. He had been thinking about what they could do together, but once he got a good look at Enjolras’ face it was all forgotten. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras took a deep breath. He looked tired, even more so than the year before. “Let’s just sit down, alright?”

_1 hour to midnight._

Enjolras didn’t speak for a long while and Grantaire became more and more nervous with each passing second. He was tapping his feet on the ground, waiting for Enjolras to speak. Enjolras was sitting next to him, completely still, looking out at the river.

Grantaire wanted to do nothing more than reach out and touch him and pull him close. “Enjolras,” he said eventually.

“I really don’t know if there’s a good way of saying this,” Enjolras whispered. There was a hint of sadness in his voice and it made Grantaire flinch. He knew what was going on, he knew what Enjolras was doing, it was what Grantaire had hated himself for even thinking about.

“Just say it,” Grantaire muttered, “you’re making me really anxious.”

Enjolras was still looking at the river. “Grantaire, I... I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he said lowly, his voice never even wavering. “All of this. It’s not working.”

Grantaire forgot how to breathe for a second. Enjolras had said it, there was no going back now. Grantaire might have given them another year, maybe two, but in the end this was always going to be the outcome.

“Please don’t think that I didn’t think this through,” Enjolras said before Grantaire could say anything. “I’ve barely thought about anything else for the past couple of weeks. But I have a job offer that I’d need to move away for, at least for a while, and what kind of life would this be anyway? I’ve loved every minute I spent with you, but this isn’t right.”

“I know,” Grantaire only said. He did know, but at the same time he was sure that he could have done this forever. He wanted to see Enjolras in ten years, in twenty years. There were so many things he still had to tell him, places to show him, and now all of those things were never going to happen. But Grantaire knew that Enjolras was doing the right thing.

There were words on the tip of Grantaire’s tongue, but they didn’t come out. He couldn’t ask Enjolras not to leave him when that was what he would have to do by morning no matter what. Grantaire wanted to tell him that he loved him, but in the end they’d only spent a few days together, so he held his tongue and took a deep breath.

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire finally said. He hated how choked his voice sounded. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras whispered and put his arms around him.

_15 minutes to midnight._

Midnight was close and it was cold and Grantaire’s hands somehow wouldn’t stop shaking. Eventually Enjolras took off his coat and draped it over Grantaire’s shoulders. He didn’t protest even though Enjolras must be freezing now.

Grantaire wished that he could stop time, so that he could just sit here forever with Enjolras by his side. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Enjolras didn’t say anything, he just did it, a gentle press of lips that was over too soon. “I should leave soon.”

“So we’re just never going to see each other again?” Grantaire asked. “We’ll never come back here?”

“We shouldn’t,” Enjolras said and planted a kiss on his forehead. “But I’ll never forget you, I can promise you that.”

Grantaire nodded. He was sure that he would just burst into tears if he tried to say even just a single word.

They didn’t say goodbye. They never had and there was no reason to start now.

_Midnight._

Grantaire watched Enjolras walk away. He never turned around.

Not sure what else to do, Grantaire just remained sitting on the bench, Enjolras’ red coat still slung around him. Enjolras hadn’t asked for it back as if he’d wanted to leave Grantaire with at least something to hold on to.

It had been the right thing to do. If he kept telling himself that, he was going to be alright. And still it hurt like hell to know that they were never going to see each other again, that they’d never talk again, that Grantaire couldn’t tell him about the art gallery, that he’d never know what happened to Enjolras now.

Grantaire thought about the note that Enjolras had left him, about the sweater that he’d stolen and the coat that Enjolras had given to him. That was all he had now. And it felt like he actually had nothing at all.

 

**2010 – August**

Grantaire was sitting in the gallery, working on a piece for Courfeyrac and Jehan. They were finally moving in together and Grantaire wanted to give them something special. Business was going well, mostly but not only thanks to an article that had been published a few months ago. His own art was selling well, too. He had an online store now and had started taking commissions.

It was nice to get some recognition and that he didn’t have to worry too much about money right now. He felt someone relaxed. Only somewhat, though. His eyes flickered over to the painting behind the counter, the only one in the gallery that wasn’t for sale. It showed an empty bench by the bank of a river, the sun setting behind the buildings in the background.

Grantaire hadn’t gone back there in months. He’d last been there in January. There had been no point to his visit, he’d known that Enjolras wouldn’t be there, but it had been nice to sit there for a while. Eventually he’d decided to let it go before it would completely destroy him, before he could slip back into old habits.

He’d taken up boxing instead. It kept him focused on other things. And he’d met Bahorel at the gym. That was all of them now. Well, almost.

Grantaire sighed and went back to his painting. He liked working at the gallery, the light here was amazing and it was blessedly quiet most of the time. Gavroche often came by after school and did his homework in the downstairs office, but he hardly ever disturbed Grantaire. Now he could hear voices downstairs, though. There were footsteps on the stairs then, too heavy to be Gavroche’s.

It was probably someone who wanted to take a look at the gallery. Grantaire would hate to send anyone away, but they were closed and he was in the middle of something. He didn’t even turn around when he heard the door behind him creak. “I’m sorry, we’re closed right now.”

“Oh, sorry, the kid downstairs said it was alright to come upstairs.”

Grantaire nearly dropped his paint brush. He knew that voice, knew it all too well, even though he hadn’t heard it in over one and a half years. He turned around, slowly, not sure what to expect, not sure if it was ridiculous to be hopeful.

It was really him. He was standing in the doorway, an apologetic smile on his face. He was wearing a suit and had a briefcase in his hand. And even though his hair was shorter than how Grantaire knew it, it was unmistakably Enjolras.

But it couldn’t be.

Grantaire was frozen on his chair, unable to speak.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Enjolras said, “I read about the gallery in the paper a while ago and I really wanted to take a look. Sorry again, I’ll just come back some other time.”

And oh, of course, this wasn’t _his_ Enjolras. It was just the Enjolras that Grantaire had suspected might be out there somewhere and he was now turning to leave, which finally got Grantaire moving. “No, don’t go. It’s fine. You can stay, I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked. “You seem a bit, I don’t know, distraught.”

“Oh... it’s just... you remind me of someone.” Grantaire somehow managed a smile and then pretended to go back to painting when he actually kept watching Enjolras out of the corner of his eye.

He was really here. Grantaire had given up on hoping that this was eventually going to happen and, really, what were the chances that Enjolras had just stumbled in here while Grantaire was working. What were the odds.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Sorry, I know you’re busy, but I’m just wondering... why isn’t that one for sale?”

Grantaire looked up and found Enjolras standing over by the counter where they kept brochures and business cards. He stood up and walked over to him. “It just means a lot to me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I see. It’s a lovely picture, very unlike your usual pieces.” He held out his hand to Grantaire. “I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

Shaking Enjolras’ hand, he said, “I’m Grantaire, it’s nice to meet you.” _Again_.

“Well, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, smiling at him, “is there anything at all I can do to convince you to let me buy that painting?”

Grantaire laughed. “Buy me lunch sometime and I’ll think about it.”

 

**2011 – February**

Grantaire had had a hard time keeping calm before his first date with Enjolras. It hadn’t actually been an official date, just lunch. Enjolras had picked him up at the gallery and had taken him to a cozy Italian restaurant. They’d ended up talking for hours while rain had been pouring down outside the window and in the beginning Grantaire had blamed the weather that neither of them wanted to leave, that they stuck around to have coffee together, but it had been so much more than just the rain.

Then Enjolras had kept showing up at the gallery after work, had brought Grantaire coffee, asked him to tell him about the art.

It had been strange, getting to know Enjolras all over again. Grantaire still spotted little differences, but there were also similarities. He remembered Enjolras’ activist group, trying so hard to change the world. He was very much the same now, got himself involved in politics and fought for a just cause, getting their friends to join him. It was slightly disconcerting how alike they were in some respect.

With that came the bickering, the arguments. Grantaire loved it all, even when doors were slammed. The fact that they could argue, that they’d make up the next day, was everything he could have ever wished for. There was always a next day for them and neither of them was going anywhere.

 

**2011 – November**

Grantaire looked at the painting that was hanging on Enjolras’ bedroom wall. He hadn’t sold it to him, he’d eventually just brought it over one day.

Enjolras was lying next to him, half-asleep already, lazily nuzzling at Grantaire’s neck. He sighed contently and planted a kiss on Grantaire’s jaw. “Stay here tonight, okay?”

Grantaire didn’t stay overnight that much, especially when Enjolras had to get up early for work the next morning, but tomorrow was a Saturday, which meant that he’d wake up with Enjolras still curled up next to him. There would be no alarm clock, just lazy kisses and nothing else. Maybe breakfast at some point.

Grantaire hummed his approval and tucked the sheets around the both of them. Sometimes he honestly couldn’t believe his luck, having found him again and all. Or more like having been found by him.

“Where have you been all this time?” Grantaire mumbled when he thought that Enjolras had fallen asleep.

Enjolras shifted slightly and smiled at him. Not sleeping then. “Studying in England,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Smartass,” Grantaire muttered and shoved him gently. “You could have shown up a little earlier.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

Still, sometimes, on days that weren’t as good as the others, Grantaire found himself walking back to that bench. He thought about the other Enjolras, wondering how he was doing now and if he was happy.

Sometimes Grantaire wished he could ask him. He just wanted to see him one more time to make sure he was alright. And to tell him that he was alright, too.

But at the end of the day he went back to _his_ Enjolras, who didn’t know that there was a picture of him that Grantaire had painted half a dozen years ago. Really, there were many things Enjolras didn’t know.

There was a sweater in Grantaire’s closet that Enjolras liked to steal because he liked the color and because it fit him perfectly.

And there was a red coat too that Grantaire never wore but also refused to donate to charity. Enjolras didn’t understand why Grantaire wouldn’t just give it away, because it was _just a coat_. Maybe one day Grantaire would explain to him why it wasn’t _just_ that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/) if you're interested!


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